


Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's Comin' to Get Me

by NeoVenus22



Category: V (2009)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica woke in a cold sweat, taking deep breaths and praying she could force down the bile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's Comin' to Get Me

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 1x01, 'Pilot'

_Dale's face looms over hers, his eyes black, his breath hot and moist. For some reason, this calls the image of a swamp to the forefront of Erica's mind. Dale blinks. His lids go the wrong way. His tongue flicks past his lips, pointed and dark._

Erica woke in a cold sweat, taking deep breaths and praying she could force down the bile.

Once or twice, she'd managed to do just that. Tonight wasn't one of those times. The sheets tangled around her calves as she kicked herself free from the bed and thundered (as best she could, barefoot) down the hallway, making it to the toilet just in time.

She heaved until her gut was empty and her throat was raw, but her head still throbbed. In her mind, Dale was human once more, but the image of him over her (and in her) was not plucked from a dream. At the time, it had been a pleasant fantasy. One which was based entirely on reality.

One which had morphed into a nightmare.

Erica hadn't quite talked herself into thinking that her relationship with Dale was anything more than a distraction at best, a mistake at worst. She was still grieving the death of her marriage, and occasionally needed a warm body to occupy her bed and her mind.

(Warm bodied. Cold blooded. She heaved again.)

He was a coworker. Mistake number one. He was a rebound. Mistake number two. He was an alien.

Third time was the charm.

The first time... the first time. She had invited him back for a beer. They'd been working together a month at that point. He'd heard all about the ex. About Tyler. He'd been sweet and supportive, maybe a little more than the average coworker should. She liked him. She trusted him. She should have known better. Obviously, Erica had something of a disastrous history with men, particularly when it came to choosing ones that were particularly trustworthy.

But Dale was the quintessential "nice man," the sort that her mother had always insisted Erica should be with (and did not let something like Erica's wedding stop her from explaining this idea to her daughter quite frequently). So she ignored the voice in her head saying it was never a good idea to sleep with coworkers, and listened to the voice that said she hadn't been touched in a long time. Tyler had been at a friend's house, she remembered, a lucky coincidence, and perhaps the entire reason she'd invited Dale back in the first place. Even mediocre sex would've been acceptable; at that point in her life, a workaholic divorcee and single mother had to take what she could get, she figured. (It was the sort of thing her mother would've said. Or maybe had said.)

Erica remembered waking up the morning after, Dale's full length pressed against her, his arm wrapped tightly around her as though he was afraid she was going to escape. At the time, she'd thought it sweet, a gesture of comfort and companionship she'd so sorely needed. And now... Erica dropped closer to the floor, pressing her sweaty forehead against the cool porcelain of the tub, trying to quell her nausea. The memory shifted, his gun-calloused hands turning even rougher against her stomach, his fingers digging tighter, exposing her vulnerability, gripping, they felt like claws...

Her world had never been particularly dream-like. It was funny how quickly things could become truly nightmarish.

The second time, she'd been at his place. It was a typical bachelor apartment, she recalled, modest and a little messy, a smattering of dishes in the sink and a handful of clothing articles that hadn't made it quite into the hamper. Completely normal for a guy in his line of work. Perfectly average.

Of course, she hadn't paid the majority of it that much attention, mostly focused with getting to the bedroom, trying not to fall into the toilet in the middle of the night, and a cursory under-caffeinated glance of his kitchen the following morning. She'd noticed nothing amiss or anything unusual, which she supposed was the whole point.

Dale was attentive, careful, and very, very good. This was how they lured you in, she thought, infiltrating, winning trust and affection. He'd gotten Erica to expose herself (in more ways than one), and she'd allowed him to get close (in more ways than one). Lord knows what kind of groundwork was made from the information she'd shared.

It had happened a few more times, spread out so it couldn't be considered a regular thing, always with the laughing admission, "We shouldn't do this," always doing it anyway. It gave her a connection, though. Not just a sexual one. Dale had become more than a work partner, and more than a partner in terms of a lover, but he'd ended up almost as her best friend. Always inquiring after her well-being. After Tyler's, even. He let her be a mother first. He offered whatever assistance he could, and she didn't doubt he'd protect Tyler just as much as he'd protect her. He asked nor demanded nothing of her. He made her laugh. He made her wish, once or twice, late at night, when she could have gone home with him but didn't, that there could be something more. It had seemed to good to be true.

It had been too good to be true.

Erica sat up, too quickly, the blood rushing from her head, but in the dizziness, she forgot the image of eyes blinking the wrong way, of scales and not skin. It helped. Woozy and exhausted, she put her hand to the wall and felt her way down the hall, pausing at Tyler's room to look inside. She loved her son more than anything, but he was young and stupid. He wouldn't understand what the Visitors were and might not even care. He wasn't like her, unaware of the enormity of the situation. He had information going in, and he was still taken under. What was worse, Erica didn't have a partner-slash-friend to rely on now. It was up to her to protect Tyler from the Visitors, from himself.

She clutched at the doorframe, watching him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall with the calm rhythm of a peaceful, untroubled sleep.

It was up to her. Only her.


End file.
